


this broken starlight (cette lumière d'étoile brisé)

by astrangecupoftea



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, Big Brother Bellamy, Bisexual Octavia Blake, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Clexa, F/F, F/M, Jealous Lexa, M/M, Med Student Clarke, Minor Costia/Lexa, Multi, Oblivious Finn, Princess Clarke, Slow Burn, Titus Being an Asshole, i just want all my bbs to be happy don't worry, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangecupoftea/pseuds/astrangecupoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has a fresh start, one wthout her gigantic family name looming over her and without memories of her ex-everything's.</p><p>Then she kisses a girl at a party who puts stars in her eyes and constellations in her heart.</p><p>(Or, the one where Clarke and Lexa are in a world-class ballet company, and it's all beautiful and awkward.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. who/what/when

** This Broken Starlight **

“Yes, Mother. Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes! Alright, I really need both hands. Yeah, I’m hanging up now. Yeah, yep. Okay, bye Mom, love you, miss you!”  
  
I clumsily stuff my phone into a back pocket, re-adjusting the strap of my very large, very heavy, very cumbersome duffel bag on my shoulder and using the newly freed hand to grasp my suitcase and slowly pull it along behind me. I am a 20 year old woman, (nearly) living on my own, and I still can’t quite escape my mother. Not that I don’t love and appreciate her, but I am still perfectly capable of loving her and appreciating her while  _not_  having to call and give updates that I’m still in one piece, nearly every hour since I left Oregon.  
  
_I left Oregon.  
  
_ I, Clarke Griffin, am no longer in Oregon.  
  
I have left. Left have I. Oregon has negative one me.  
  
Thank fucking  _God.  
  
_ Washington wasn’t enormously different from Oregon, taxes and hipsters and food trucks being obvious differences, but to me it might as well have been a different planet. In Oregon, there were ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend and ex-university. In Oregon, there was old Clarke with the huge family name and the huge expectations. In Oregon, there was Clarke Griffin.  
  
Here, though… there was Kane Dance Company at the University of Arkadia, one of the country's most prestigious ballet companies. There was unit #100, my brand new dorm with my brand new mystery roommates. Here, there was just… Clarke.  
  
I could feel the idiotic smile slapped on my face as I approached the door to said apartment, patting my pockets for my keys and producing them with an even more stupid grin, triumphantly inserting the key into the lock and tentatively cracking the door open.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Nothing, just a whole lot of nothing. I step further inside, the only sounds being the wooden floorboards creaking slightly beneath my weight and the rolling of my suitcase wheels.  
  
“Hi, um… is anyone here? It’s Clarke? Clarke Gr-“ I stop short. There is no way I’m making that mistake so soon. “Yeah, it’s Clarke?”  
  
I drop my duffel bag with a thud. Even with the orange light of the early evening sun coming through the windows, I can’t see much. I reach my hand out to grope the wall and find a light switch.  
  
An incredibly loud, deep, weirdly familiar sound fills the air and I think a bit of pee comes out.  
  
_"Surprise!”  
  
“What up, bitch!”_  
  
I whirl around and back up against the wall quickly, clutching both my chest and my crotch - just in case - heart in my throat. “Holy hell!”  
  
The lights are thrown on, and I’m left staring at two girls; one is bent over holding her stomach with one hand and an air horn in the other, the second is standing and fanning her extremely red face as tears well up in her eyes.  
  
“Oh shit, that was good. That was so, so good. Much better than expected!” air horn girl chokes out.  
  
“That was absolutely beautiful. Did you… did you crap yourself or something?” tomato face says, eyes directly focused on my coocher.  
  
I take my hand away from my bits slowly, very happy to see that no, I had not  _actually_  peed, nor crapped.  
  
“No! No, I thought so for a minute but I think we’re okay.”  
  
“Damn it! That would’ve made it like, ten times better,” air horn girl says. She steps around the couch she was previously hidden behind. “I’m sorry… kind of. We just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”  
  
“Really, though, sorry… unless you’re actually upset, in which case you’re a little sensitive and we might not get along very well,” tomato face adds, tossing her long, straight brown hair over her shoulder with a smile.  
  
“No apologies needed. If I  _had_  soiled myself, it would’ve been on your floor and I would’ve had to be the one to apologize.”  
  
“Your floor now, chica.  _Mi pee floor es su pee floor_ ,” air horn says, and I realize that until I introduce myself, I will have to keep referring to them as inanimate objects.  
  
“Clarke Gr-“ There it nearly was again. “ _Green_ ,” I awkwardly draw out the word, squinting my eyes at the lie. Green? God, fucking lame.  
  
“Clarke Green? Raven Reyes, nice to meet you,” Raven says, stepping forward to shake hands.  
  
“I’m going to just go in for a hug. Shaking your hand seems weird when there’s a possibility you could accidentally see me bare ass naked come tomorrow morning. Octavia Blake,” Octavia chimes in, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around me, squeezing with an incredible amount of strength. I let out a small squeak, which Raven seems to hear.  
  
“She’s not a fucking orange, O; you can stop trying to juice her. Forgive her, she’s got drummer’s arms.”  
  
“Forgiven.”  
  
“I’m assuming since you have a vagina, those aren’t all of your bags. Need a hand?” Raven says, stepping forward to pick up my dropped duffel bag. She lifts it without straining and I actually feel like a wet ramen noodle compared to the both of them.  
  
“I’m actually not going to say no, so if you were hoping for me to reject this might get awkward.”  
  
Octavia and Raven pause, look at each other, and look back at me.  
  
“I  _think_  we like you, Green. We’re going to get along swimmingly.”

 

* * *

  
  
“So… we were thinking, we could go and grab a bite to eat, you can meet some of our people, possibly get drunk, make some bad decisions. Unless you want to just hang out here and get some rest, which is cool too…”  
  
I pause, putting the shirt I was folding into my dresser, and turn to look at Octavia’s head poking in my doorway. I squint my eyes, studying her face for a moment. I was a little tired, truth be told, but not nearly tired enough to pass up an opportunity to consume alcohol in large quantities.  
  
“I feel like this is a test. Even if it weren’t, I’m not going to say no to food and booze.”  
  
“It was a test, and you passed. We’re leaving in 30, sound good?”  
  
I give her thumbs up, and she throws a finger gun back at me, closing the door behind her as she leaves and I instantly like it here even more. All doors at home were left open. Your Mom walks in on you and your ‘algebra project partner’ _once_  and nothing is sacred - although, really, no one does projects in algebra. It might not have helped that her name was Charlotte and your hand was up her skirt at the time, either.  
  
I close the dresser drawer, thankful that I had the mind to send my furniture ahead of me. I was finding myself being tremendously thankful in general – I have a three-bedroom dorm, no nasty communal bathroom, I’m a short distance from the Performance Arts building and it turns out I have two stellar roommates who are also in the same program as me.  
  
Unfortunately, they had known about me before I had even stepped foot in Washington.  
  
“Well, we first heard about you when everyone was talking about a new girl transferring in from out of state, which is strange because you usually don’t make it into the company right away even being in-state,” Octavia had said, feet curled up on the couch underneath her. “You have to be enrolled here and audition first year, which I’m sure you already know.”  
  
_I did know_. I nodded, nervously biting the inside of my lip.  
  
“We didn’t hear much until this last August, when we basically had to force it out of Titus - he’s one of the instructors, weird name, kind of a wet blanket but not too bad. He told us you were going into second year at your old school, which was even more strange.”  
  
_It was strange_. My biting intensified.  
  
“Then we heard you were going straight to principal dancer, which is like,  _wow_. Raven and I are second soloists, and that took a hell of a lot of work. I was kind of pissed for a hot minute, but I realized you must be amazing or something to accomplish all of that so I can’t really hate.”  
  
Thank God for that. I had quickly shut down any more conversation about how and why I was here, which earned me quite a few suspicious looks, and switched the topic to how they got into UW.  
  
Raven and Octavia excitedly told me about how they had been dancing since they were kids, first meeting in pre-school and bonding over their shared love of tutus and ballerinas. They went through classes together all the way up to their high school’s company, Arkadia and Kane seeming like a dream to them until Octavia landed the role of Juliet in their company’s rendition of ‘Romeo  & Juliet’, with Raven starring alongside her as Romeo.  
  
“Whoa. Same-sex Ro-Ro and Jules. I dig that so hard.”  
  
“Yeah, Kane’s scouts did, too. They came to every show of our run, and eventually offered both of us full rides.”  
  
“Full disclosure, I threw up on myself that day,” Raven added, nodding and looking off into the distance, completely serious.  
  
“I wish she was lying,” Octavia smirked.  
  
“Wow, that’s… incredible. So, how long have you two been together?”  
  
Raven’s face paled and Octavia’s face turned an alarming shade of red for the second time in the past hour.  
  
“No, we’re not together like, like… that,” Raven said, swallowing and letting out a laugh that was just a little too hard.  
  
A silence descended the room and another topic was brought up, which I was all too glad for. I wasn't quite ready to tell my story yet.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
Looking down at myself, I realize my outfit is completely inappropriate for my first new college party; embarrassing grey sweats with ‘DANCE’ printed on the ass and a thin zip-up hoodie.  _Not_  a stellar first impression.  
  
Black leggings, a long white tank and a denim jacket later and I’m left puttering around my room, setting my laptop up on my desk and fluffing up the pink furry bean bag from home that I couldn’t part with.  
  
“Yo, Clarke, you ready?” Raven bellows.  
  
“All good,” I chime, closing my door behind me as I meet them in the living room.  
  
Raven and Octavia are dressed casually, too, and I don’t realize until I catch myself comparing how they look with how I look that I’m nervous. I think they catch on, because as I’m kneeling down to tie the laces of my Chucks, Octavia says, “You look cute… if you were worrying about it or something. I like the jacket.”  
  
“Do I really look that tense?” I sigh, tucking my wallet into my back pocket.  
  
“Define ‘ _that tense_ ’,” she replies, stroking her chin in thought.  
  
“Don’t worry about it; the people you'll want to try and impress probably won’t even be there - the principals. With the first day of classes in a couple of days they’ll most likely be getting their beauty sleep or some other  _prima ballerina_  complex bullshit,” Raven intercepts, locking the door behind her as we all file out.  
  
“Fuck, are there a lot of those? Divas? I was sort of expecting some big egos, but…”  
  
Raven scrunches her nose a bit. “Depends. Some people have a sense of entitlement; they feel like they’ve worked harder to get here so they deserve more, that kind of thing. They don’t realize we’ve all worked pretty fucking hard to get here, and we all deserve it. Our old roommate, don’t even get me started…”  
  
“You just got yourself started, Ray,” Octavia adds, nudging Raven in the side as we walk down the cobblestone streets.  
“That bad?”  
  
“Worse, if you can imagine. She was on a scholarship, too. She thought she was the hottest shit in town, treated everyone else like crap, stepped on a person to get where she wanted to go – which was ultimately pretty far, I’ve got to say. At the end of the year, she went back East - to Julliard.”  
  
“Wow... Is she a name I might recognize?”  
  
“Maybe. Costia Washington?”  
  
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I shrug.  
  
“If only we were so lucky,” Octavia shakes her head. I laugh at the scowls on their faces.  
  
We continue walking, the sky not fully dark yet, making small talk as we go along. I tune out of the conversation a few times, observing the still busy campus with students milling around. It’s a short walk, less than ten minutes before we get to our destination - a restaurant on the corner of the block.  
  
“Welcome to Grounder’s!” Raven says, holding the door open for Octavia and I.  
  
‘Grounder’s’ turns out to be a diner; mainly old-fashioned burgers, fries and milkshakes. There’s a large, rounded counter in the middle with stools all around it, and the waitress behind it looks up and gives us a short wave as we walk past. Raven and Octavia lead me to the back of the restaurant, where there’s a large booth already filled with people who turn and yell various greetings as we approach.  
  
One of the booth’s occupants, a bug-eyed kid with a floppy haircut, stands up and walks towards me with open arms and a mouth full of what I hope is fries.  
  
“You musht be  _Glarke_!” he says, still chewing.  
  
“I’m pretty sure I’m Clarke, but Glarke works, too,” I respond, patting him on the back wearily with one hand. I lock eyes with Octavia, who is sitting on some guy with curly black hair’s lap, taking a bite out of the burger on his plate while he tries to slap her hands away from it.  
  
She shrugs at me, a slice of tomato hanging limply from her mouth.  
  
“ _Glarke! ’_ S what I said, _Glarke_!” he responds, still hugging me.  
  
“Fucking swallow, you idiot. She can’t understand you,” Raven says, coming over and detaching floppy haired fry mouth from my person. “This is Jasper. He’s a loveable idiot, even more so when he’s...” and she motions putting a joint to her lips.  
  
I mouth an “ _ahhh_ ” at her in recognition. Both the hugging and the fries now make sense.  
  
“Everyone, roll call,” she says, and one by one, each person introduces themselves.  
  
“Octavia!”  
  
“We’re aware, O,” Raven drawls sarcastically, though she’s got a smile on her face.  
  
“Bellamy B., teen heartthrob,” the guy underneath of Octavia says, raising his hand with a smirk. Okay, I’m laughing a bit. He’s funny.  
  
“Oh! So  _you_  guys are-“ I start.  
  
“No!” multiple people shout, and I feel my face get hot.  
  
“Sorry, it’s reflex; this happens all the time, which is just as awkward as you think it is. He’s my big brother. B is for Blake,” Octavia explains, and my face cools down a bit.  
  
“Jasper!” he says around a bite of even more food, raising his hand with a burger still in it.  
  
“Monty Green, pleased to meet you,” the boy sitting beside Jasper says, and I curse under my breath.  
  
“Green, that’s Clarke’s last name, too. Any relation?” Raven smirks.  
  
“Are your parents originally from Utah and currently own a Subaru dealership?” Monty says, monotone.  
  
“ _Yeah_ , actually,” I reply, feigning shock.  
  
He sits up slowly in the booth, and with his eyes comically wide, “the sister I never wanted!”  
  
Note to Clarke: we like Monty, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
Before this moment, I thought I might have been the only ballet student in  the world with a regular appetite. Damn, I was wrong.  
  
I sip on my Diet Coke – after 12 years of training, at least I’m still trying – watching as Raven simultaneously stuffs an onion ring and a mozzarella stick from Octavia’s plate into her mouth, washing it all down with a long gulp of Sprite.  
  
“I’m sorry, but do you even know what food tastes like? It seems like you just open your mouth and it all goes in like you’re the world’s most efficient Dyson,” Monty quips, watching Raven with astonishment, his cheek resting in his hand. “Like, it’s been a couple of years and I’m still not used to seeing this, then the next morning seeing you doing pilates and balancing on your pointies.”  
  
There’s a pause as everyone scrunches their faces up, trying to make sense of Monty’s already slightly inebriated gibberish.  
  
“Pliés and pointes?” I offer.  
  
“Yeah! Those are the ones, where your vaginas are all out in the open, feeling the breeze and whatnot.”  
  
“That’s… fucking gross,” Bellamy interjects, scraping the last of his milkshake out of his cup with loud slurping sounds.  
  
“I can tell you’re really disgusted, Bell,” Octavia adds, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Party!” Jasper suddenly yelps, his head shooting up from its previous position on the table. A very visible red mark is coloring his cheek where his face was resting, and I think there may also be drool? “The party - we’re going to be late, people.”  
  
“Calm down, White Rabbit, we’ve got plenty of time. Besides, it’s a universally known fact that one must have a layer of sustenance in one’s stomach to soak up the alcohol they are inevitably going to ingest.”  
  
“I’m… not sure that’s how the human body works, dumbass,” Jasper responds, seemingly sobering up at the idiocy of Bellamy’s frat boy logic.  
  
After paying our bill and throwing our jackets on we’re off again, backtracking towards the dorms from the restaurant.  
  
“So, where is this party at?” I ask, sidling up to Octavia. She links her arm in mine, skipping a bit as we amble along the cobblestones.  
  
“Echo’s dorm - she’s in the corps de ballet, but she’s actually one of the cool ones. She keeps all the corps and the apprentices in line so the rest of us don’t have to deal with their shitty first year drama, which sucks for her because she’s a second year, too.”  
  
“If she’s a second year, why isn’t she a soloist or something?”  
  
“I might as well tell you now, so I can save you the pain and never-ending awkwardness if you accidentally bring it up. Remember Costia?” I nod, and Octavia bunches up her face as she says, “She stole Echo’s spot from her, snatched it away. Literally.”  
  
Literally took it away from her? I’m not sure that’s what she really means, and I tell Octavia as much.  
  
“No, that’s really what I mean,” she hedges. “She slept with one of our old instructors. Like, way more than once. Also, in our dorm. So, yeah, I guess you could say she literally snatched it away from her,” Raven yells from a few paces behind us. “I’m not about to slut shame or anything but damn, that girl was the nastiest hoe-bag I’ve ever met.”  
  
Talk about bopping your way to the top.  
  
The rest of the walk goes by quickly, with everyone pointing out various things they think I might find interesting about the campus as we go by them. I was more tired than I had expected, but the early September night air was helping a bit. We re-entered our dorm building and I studied the events posters hanging on the walls, noticing that most of them were for the arts.  
  
“If you can’t already tell, the majority of the female arts majors live in this building if they don’t live off-campus. Most of the guys aren’t majoring in dance alone, so they’re more spread out off in the male dorms,” Raven explains.  
  
“Hmm. What’s your major?”  
  
“Engineering.”  
  
“Try not to look so shocked, Princess,” Bellamy quips.  
  
I’m about to respond when we turn the corner and suddenly I’m drowned out by noise. The hallway in front of me is lined on either side, with people leaning against the wall or standing and having loud conversations, couples viciously sucking face peppered amongst them. There are two dorm doors open, groups of people going back and forth between them.  
  
I follow closely behind the group as we walk into the dorm on the right, and inside is a fairly typical party scene; kegs in ice in the kitchen sinks, people standing around with distinctive red cups, a makeshift dance floor area in the middle of the living room with students dancing to some kind of indie pop-rock blaring from the speakers.  
  
“Drink?” Raven says, and I nod vigorously. She grabs my hand and leads me toward the kitchen, and Octavia grabs my other hand to create a chain. Jasper, Monty and Bellamy split off from us and head toward the back of the room.  
  
We congregate in the kitchen, and Raven fills three red cups full of beer. I down most of it in a few seconds, and she wordlessly grabs it from me and re-fills it. Scanning the party, I spot the three boys already engaged in a game of beer pong. Well, there’s one thing that doesn’t differ much from Oregon.  
  
_“Holy fuck, you guys!”_  I turn to see a girl pushing through to get to us, long brown and blonde hair frizzy and wild. She stops in front of us, holding out her hand, palm out and eyes closed as she takes a deep breath to prepare – prepare us or prepare herself, I have no idea.  
  
“Hey, Echo! I was just about to look for you, this is –“  
  
“Clarke, yeah, I know. I have something outstanding to tell you,” Echo shouts over the music, pausing for a moment to give me a quick nod in greeting. Octavia makes a funny face, shrugging in response to me shooting her a questioning look.  _How the hell do people already know my name?_   “You’re never going to believe who’s here.”  
  
“Tom Hardy?”  
  
“What? No.”  
  
“Yeah, then I don’t care,” Raven sniffs, taking a sip of her drink and I stifle a laugh.  
  
“You will care, you asshole. The  _fucking principals_  are here, almost all of them.”  
  
“Even the Commander?”  
  
_“Even the Commander.”_  
  
Judging by Raven and Octavia’s stunned silences and Echo’s smug nodding, this is a big deal.  
  
“Is this… is this huge? I’m guessing this is huge,” I yell.  
  
Octavia turns toward me slowly, eyes wide with mischief. “This is gigantic,” she replies, enunciating every word as she grabs my shoulders.  
  
“Yeah, but why? Principal dancers aren’t untouchable gods.”  
  
“The Commander might as well be.”  
  
“Like, is she drinking and dancing or is she sitting and glaring?” Raven asks.  
  
“I was a little too scared to make eye contact, but from what I could see, she’s got a drink.”  
  
“Oh my God…”  
  
“Hi, sorry, am I missing something here? _Who’s the Commander?_ ”  
  
“Keep your fucking voice down, bitch! Are you crazy?” Raven says, her eyes shifting around the crowd wildly.  
  
“ _I’m_  not, but I’m starting to think the three of you  _definitely_  are.”  
  
“You haven’t told her about the Commander yet? You guys fucking suck,” Echo says, incredulous, and I’m more confused than that time I cried during an AP Biology dissection - I hadn’t slept the night before, and forgot where the pancreas in my pig specimen was. It might also have been that my pig very clearly looked like ‘ _Babe_ ’ and it was both sad and distracting, but no one took my side on that one.  
  
“Well, I didn’t think we’d have to worry about it until company started. I guess not. Why are they here?!” Octavia yelps.  
  
The conversation turns to the other company members that are at the party, and I zone out sometime around them discussing someone with a name that reminds me of a fish. I know I should probably be paying attention, but gossip has never been my strong suit.  
  
I catch Bellamy’s eye, still at the beer pong table, and he throws a hand up in greeting. I slightly raise one back, and he furrows his brows and motions for me to come over. I gladly take the out and quietly slip away from the three girls. Making my way to the table in the back is no easy feat, and when I finally do, I can feel how red my face is from pushing my way through the crowd.  
  
“Well hey there, Princess. Fancy trying your luck against the reigning beer pong champ?” Bellamy says, throwing an arm around my shoulder.  
  
I level a stare at him and try to gauge just how drunk he is.  
  
“Aw, if you’re nervous, it’s alright. I’ll catch you next time,” he says, and with a playful wink he turns toward the crowd of people chuckling behind him. “I’d feel a little bad winning over a girl, anyway.”  
  
He’s not drunk yet, so it’s possible he’d put up a fight - but I’m confident in my beer pong abilities, and his comments steel my resolve even further.  
  
“You’re on.”  
  
The crowd lets out a low ‘ooh’ sound. Bellamy turns, smiling.  
  
“Line ‘em up!”

 

* * *

 

  
  
“That was bad-ass, Clarke! I’ve never seen someone win against Bell,” Monty says, and I shoot him back a smug smile.  
  
“He’s unbeatable, man,” Jasper shakes his head.  
  
“He  _was_  unbeatable,” I correct him, laughing at the sight of Bellamy sitting on the couch across the room, looking very disillusioned. I tell Jasper and Monty that I’ll catch them later, and move to join Bellamy on the couch.  
  
Patting his shoulder as I sit down, with a fake pout I tease, “Aw, it’s okay, little Belly.  _You’ll catch me next time_.”  
  
He glares at me over his beer, and I can’t stop the giggles from coming out.  
  
“Good game, Princess. I misjudged you… but I will beat you next time, mark my words,” he says, slurring.  
  
“I would mark them if I could understand them.”  
  
“Shut up, I’m defeated,” he grumbles, and I laugh as he slouches back in the couch. “Don’t laugh at me… stop it… I’m a sad man right now,” he insists, but even through his protests, a smile starts creeping out and soon we’re both in stitches. I settle back on the couch once the laughing fit subsides, looking up.  
  
That’s when I see her.  
  
The room is still full of people, but through a parting in the crowd I see her and she's hard to miss - leaning against the wall across from me, a Doc Marten-clad foot propped up casually. Her golden brown hair is tied to the side, flowing over a shoulder with pieces framing her face. She takes a long pull from her bottle of beer, and now I’m looking at her lips – strawberry pink, and she licks the alcohol off her bottom lip.  
  
I swallow hard, feeling my heart beating in my throat, and lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees as I shamelessly stare. She turns, and my skin feels prickly hot when our eyes meet – her's are rimmed with hazy liner and framed with velvety lashes. She almost glances over me, but the alcohol makes me bold and I manage to hold her stare. Her brows knit together a bit, and I grin.  
  
_Where the fuck is this coming from, Griffin? Could you be any more obvious?_  
  
I’m no stranger to this game, but I’d like to think I’ve learned the art of being coy by now.  
  
She looks away for a moment, then back at me, probably expecting me to have looked away as well. When she sees I haven’t, her lips turn into a lopsided smirk and holy hell, her mouth is incredible. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, running my eyes over her body again; a flannel shirt tied around her waist, tank top tucked into jeans, a sculpted figure - a little lanky, but I can see the definition in her arms as she crosses them.  
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…”  
  
“What?” I shake my head a bit to clear it, glancing to the side at Bellamy.  
  
“I wouldn’t, there’s something… that girl… they call her something real stupid and you just  _can’t_ ,” he hiccups, and I sigh through my nose.  
  
“I  _can’t_? I like you, and I think we’re going to get along really well but no offence… you’ve known me for like, an hour. With all due respect, I think I can.” I give Bellamy’s knee a light pat as I get up and he half-heartedly reaches out to stop me to no avail.  
  
When I turn around, the crowd has knit together again and I lose track of where I saw her. Holding my beer tight to my chest, I push through in the direction she was. There are people on all sides of me, and it’s getting hotter and the music seems louder than before, and I just want to find her,  _god damn it._  
  
I push through finally, and am faced with a very empty spot on the wall where she had been.  
  
_Well, fuck._

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
Air. It’s definitely time to get some air.  
  
I reach the balcony with quick strides, sliding the door open with a huff - and coming face-to-face with three boys crowded around a gigantic, ugly bong. They look up as I come outside, a thick cloud of smoke all around them.  
  
“Go away.”  
  
“What? Dude, we were here first and we can’t smoke in-“  
  
“ _Go away,_ ” I bite through clenched teeth, and they pick up their functional modern art piece and shuffle inside, muttering under their breaths and slamming the door closed behind them.  
  
My beer is warm and tastes a little like piss going down, so I slowly pour the remaining over the balcony, discarding the cup behind me. Leaning against the railing, I take a deep breath in through my nose and close my eyes, trying to massage the tension out of my neck.  
  
The door slides open, and I fear for the life of whoever it is.  
  
“You better be out here because you forgot your stash or something,” I say, and  _Christ, I sound like an asshole._  Whoever it is doesn’t respond, and I sigh. “Look, I’m sorry for kicking you guys out… or in… or, whatever. I just saw the most heart-stopping babe I’ve ever laid eyes on and then promptly lost her and it sucks, and I’m bitter about it and hoping you know how that feels even a little bit. It’s been a weird night so far… and I’m ranting. So, sorry.”  
  
I can feel warm breath on my neck before, “I don’t mean to be arrogant and assume you’re talking about me, but…”  
  
I whirl around, and I’m looking into hazy eyes again.  
  
There’s a moment of silence where I realize I’ve embarrassed myself, horribly, and I want to throw up or run away or be anywhere but in my own skin in this moment.  
  
“I…  _shit_ ,” I somehow manage to sputter.  
  
She’s  _so_  close to me, and even in the dim glow the string of lights hung up around us provides I can finally see that her eyes are an unreal shade of green, flecked with blue and gold.  
  
“Was I right?” she says, her voice low, and I know the breeze passing by isn’t what makes bumps rise quickly on my arms.  
  
“About what?”  
  
Now is when you start playing coy, Griffin? Damn, you are a fucking fool.  
  
“The…  _‘babe’_? Who was she?” and she steps even closer, closing the gap between us.  
  
Her chest brushes against mine, and it’s harder to breathe. The wind picks up again, and she smells of laundry and clean hair and sweet floral.  
  
“I think…” She takes another step closer, her hand brushes mine. “I think that’s a stupid question,” I finish, and she’s running her fingernails lightly, slowly up and down my arm.  
  
“You are right, I suppose it was.”  
  
Another pause. My eyes can’t take enough of her in, and I know I’m being obvious. There’s a fire settled in my stomach - the longer she’s this close to me and the more she touches me, the more my gut tightens.  
  
Her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, and I’m staring at the freckle on her top lip when my hand moves before I really know what I’m doing. I grab on to the portion of her hip that her tank top has exposed.  
  
I feel a shiver run through her and her mouth is on mine.  
  
She tastes like beer and something sweet, and my hand is running down her back - willing her to come closer. Her hands thread into my hair. I take her bottom lip into my mouth and bite down slightly, and the sweetness is vanilla lip balm. Her hips are pushing against me until we’re resting against the balcony railing, the cool air is rustling our hair, and this kiss is nothing I have ever felt before.  
  
I reach my hand to brush against her neck, and it runs along the curve of her breast on the way up. She groans into my mouth, pushing herself into the palm of my hand.  
  
The door loudly slides open.  
  
She breaks away with a gasp. Her eyes are wide when she looks at me, and then she turns and disappears back into the dorm.  
  
“Who…  _huh_?” Raven says, motioning behind her.  
  
I rush past her wordlessly and catch a flash of movement heading towards the front door. I’m elbowing through the crowd, pushing past people and earning several indignant shouts, but by the time I reach the kitchen I know I’ve missed her.  
  
“Clarke!” Raven catches up to me, putting her hand on my arm. “I'm not going to bother asking what that was, because it’s pretty obvious, but…  _who_  was that?”  
  
I stare at the open entryway, willing her to walk back through it.  
  
An awful moment passes.  
  
She doesn’t.  
  
“I wish I knew.”


	2. félicitations à vous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the confusing ballet terms and Clarke being forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the bottom, you'll find definitions for all the French words and ballet terms I've used through the chapter. :)

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Two days pass by in somewhat of a blur - the mornings are filled with unpacking, organizing, buying books, lunches at Grounder’s and phone calls from Mom. The evenings are parties - the night following as wild as the first, though I barely drink; my third night in Washington is a smaller get-together, with only most of our dorm attending.  
  
She is at neither of those parties, nor do I see her in the campus bookstore, or the diner, or in the quad or at the coffee shop down the street.  
  
I’m a little angry, honestly. The excitement of my upcoming first day at a brand new school is frequently dampened over the next 48 hours by the memory of green eyes and full lips.  
  
Raven and Octavia are fixated on trying to help me figure out who she is, and never once mention that she _is_ , in fact, a _she_ and I don’t think they realize how much I appreciate them for it.  
  
“I’ve described what I remember of her, like, ten times already. Raven, are you _sure_ you didn’t get a good look at her?” I grumble, throwing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt into my duffel bag and zipping it up.  
  
“This definitely isn’t the first time I’ve said this in my life, but I wish I hadn’t been so wasted. I just remember seeing you and some chick against the railing, being _very_ explicit, before she was out of there,” Raven shrugs, walking out of her bedroom while sticking a bobby pin into her bun.  
  
“Besides, you really haven’t given us much to work with. ‘Really pretty hair’, ‘green eyes’ and ‘so fucking gorgeous’ aren’t a lot to go on, Clarkey,” Octavia says, her ponytail swinging behind her as she hands Raven and I our full water bottles.  
  
“… Okay, I can see where you’re coming from,” I sigh, throwing my bag across my body and following them out of the door.  
  
The walk to the performance arts center takes around 5 minutes. I feel nervous butterflies erupting in my stomach the closer we get – Kane Ballet Company is no joke. There is always steep competition in the dance world, no matter the school, but with one as synonymous with success as Arkadia… the stakes are even higher. I’m confident in my abilities and proud that I’ve gotten as far as I have at such a young age – but still acutely aware of not letting myself become comfortable. I’ll have to push myself harder than I ever have before.  
  
As soon as we walk into the dance studio, my head clears. The slightly dusty smell of the floors and the light lilting of piano music fill my senses, and I remember exactly why I’m here.  
  
The studio is absolutely gigantic and bright, lined with mirrors on two sides of the wall, the other two sides lined with the barre, four additional barres set up parallel to each other down the middle of the room. The ceiling is high, and I look up and gasp – now I know why the studio is so light; the majority of the ceiling is completely glass, and I can perfectly see a few fluffy clouds moving over the early morning sky.  
  
“Pretty rad, right?” Octavia smiles, leading me to a smaller room just off the side of the studio. “We call this the dressing room, since it doesn’t smell like sweat and ‘locker room’ sounds gross.”  
  
The room is rectangular, with the far long wall consisting entirely of metal lockers, painted alternately with cream white and light beige - names hanging above each spot from tiny frames, apiece uniquely decorated. I scan them to look for mine, and pass by Raven and Octavia’s; Raven’s frame is painted red and decorated with a NASA sticker, fake white rose petals and a shiny metal gear; Octavia’s is light pink with sparkly butterflies and a tiny polaroid picture of her and Raven in similar tutus, arms around each other as she kisses Raven on the cheek.  
  
I raise an eyebrow. “Romeo  & Juliet?”  
  
Raven nods, a bright smile on her face. “The rose petals on mine are from closing night. They surprised us, dumped them on us during our final pas de deux.”  
  
Directly to the right of theirs, I spot mine and am shocked to see it decorated – sparsely, but still decorated. It’s light blue, and there’s a small gold crown glued to the top left corner, my name written in beautiful penmanship.  
  
“I heard Bell call you ‘Princess’ a few times and thought it might be funny, so we snuck in here yesterday and did it. If you hate it, that’s totally cool, I just… wanted to give you a little welcome present,” Octavia says, fiddling with her water bottle.  
  
“No, I _love_ it. Really, I… this was really nice of you guys. Thank you.”  
  
The girls smile, turning back to continue hanging their things in their spots. The locker beside mine catches my eye and my brows knit together - I guess not all of the frames are decorated. This one is dark blue, with a barely noticeable drawing of a constellation in the corner, sketched in white. That’s it.  
  
“Hey guys, what’s up with this one? Who’s… _Lexa_?”  
  
“Yeah, I forgot to mention that. You’re beside the Commander.”  
  
“ _The Commander?_ As in the person you all seem to be scared of?”  
  
“We’re not _scared_ of her - she’s just really… intense. You’ll see,” Raven says, with what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring smile.  
  
“Oh, _great_. Either way, it’s just kind of… sad,” I say quietly, giving the frame one last glance before I put my things away.

 

* * *

 

  
We re-enter the studio with a lot of time to spare before class starts to begin early, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find people already there. A single row of flat, soft mats are set up in an empty space, with dancers in various positions stretching. Like in Oregon, the first class of the day is reserved for soloists and principal dancers, with an afternoon class later on for the corps de ballet and apprentices.  
  
I had thought we might be the first ones to class. I check a clock on the wall: _7:37AM_.  
  
“Well, they seem… pro-active,” I try, tying my hair into a loose bun at the nape of my neck.  
  
Octavia scoffs quietly. “That’s nothing. I’m here before seven every so often, and sometimes Commander Lexa and a couple of her crew are already here, halfway through their own adagio.”  
  
I hum in response, setting my water bottle off to the side and picking a spot on the mat to begin stretching. Raven and Octavia choose spots on either side of me, and we begin warming up, no sounds other than soft piano music between us for a while. We’re focused, but for some reason my mind keeps wandering to the gloomy blue frame. I know I mentioned not being a gossip, but… oh, what the hell.  
  
“So, is she here yet?” I whisper, stretching my legs in front of me and reaching out to grab my feet. “ _The Commander?”  
  
_ Raven scoffs. “Of course she is, she’s usually the first one here. See the one in first position, demi-plie? Over at the barre?”  
  
I scan the room, brows furrowed, and then I notice her. Her back is turned to the room, which gives me a great opportunity to look at her form and it is, annoyingly, pretty perfect. She’s in all black, her long-sleeved leotard, leggings and wrap skirt accentuating the strength in her arms and legs as she moves into an arabesque, facing out and…  
  
“ _Oh my god_.”  
  
“What? She’s pretty, too? I know, it’s fucking anno-“  
  
“It’s her.”  
  
“ _Huh_?” Raven tilts her head.  
  
“ _The girl_. That’s _her_ , it’s _her_ , she’s-“  
  
“Party Girl?!” Octavia’s voice reaches a frightening pitch, and Raven hushes her.  
  
I feel like I can’t breathe, seeing her again. Raven and Octavia are saying something, asking me questions but I’m watching her as she bends, brushes the floor with her fingertips. She reaches up, following her hand with her eyes, and I’m willing her to look at me and I’m…  
  
_I might throw up._  
  
“ _Clarke_!”  
  
Raven turns me toward her, hands on my shoulders, and I’m forced to look away.  
  
“She’s the girl from the party? Are you _sure_?”  
  
I look back at her – _Lexa_. _Her_ is Lexa.  
  
There is absolutely no way I could forget her, even with her hair tied back into a tight bun, so different than how it was that night - I wonder if it still smells the same, like flowers and citrus, or if she’s wearing the same vanilla lip balm or if her skin is still as soft as it felt when I was pulling her closer.  
  
I reply without looking away. “Yes. It’s her, I’m sure.”  
  
“ _Holy shit_ …”  
  
“You kissed the Commander.”  
  
I swallow, my mouth suddenly very dry.  
  
“ _Everyone, se réunir_ _! Réunir_!”  
  
In the midst of my revelation, I hadn’t noticed the room filling up. I check the clock again – _8:02AM_. A tall, bald man in a tight zip-up and black jazz pants makes his way to the center of the floor, clapping his hands to round us all up. Beside him, there is a man I recognize right away – Marcus Kane.  
  
Raven, Octavia and I move to the middle of the room, as well. I can see her – Lexa - in my peripheral vision, and she still hasn’t noticed me.  
  
"Welcome once again to Kane Ballet Company," the bald man says, “As you can see, there are a few new faces. To those unfamiliar with me, my name is Mr. Titus Gagnon, Ballet Master."

There is light applause.  
  
“Hello, everyone - my name is Marcus Kane, and if you are somehow unaware of whom I am, I am the president of Kane Ballet Company. I would also like to say a warm welcome to our new dancers. I congratulate you on your hard work, and am looking forward to seeing what you all have in store,” Marcus says, his gaze stopping on me for a second. I will him with my eyes – _don’t say anything, please_ \- and he thankfully understands because he continues on, “Our Company this year is one of the best we’ve had in years.”  
  
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.  
  
"First, I would like to congratulate those who have moved up from the corps and are now joining us for the first time as second soloists. _Félicitations à vous_!”  
  
More clapping.  
  
“We also have a new principal in from Griffin Academy of the Arts, and we are very lucky to have found her. Clarke, please step forward, _si vous plait_.”  
  
My heart in my throat, I slowly take a step. There is scattered applause, some clearly not happy to see me.  
  
My eyes find Lexa’s, and the recognition is painted across her face, her cheeks tinted red and her eyes huge. My lips turn up in a slight smile, and I feel like a fool when her eyes drop, her face turning stoic and hard. She looks to the floor.  
  
“Okay, everyone, _commencer_!”  
  


* * *

  
  
Class begins, and I try to meet Lexa’s gaze as often as I can – which proves to be worthless, because she seems to be trying to _avoid_ my gaze just as much.  
  
The first 30 minutes, we’re at the barre before moving to center work. It takes me a few minutes to catch on to Titus’ style, but I finally get his rhythm. He speaks quickly, only pausing to very briefly give us examples of the combinations before moving on.  
  
Titus splits us into two groups, Raven and I in one group and Octavia and Lexa in the other. Our group is first, and my skin prickles when I feel a pair of eyes on me. I turn and meet Lexa’s gaze for a moment before she looks away.  
  
“Okay - open, full plié, down and up, small forward bend, up! _Up_! We lift again, then forward, back, and down. Second, two demi-pliés, towards the barre, through the front again, and first position, demi-plié to the front. We finish with grand-plié, tendu, and then we stretch again. Has everyone got that?”  
  
The pianist begins and I can see more eyes on me now, critical eyes this time - waiting for me to mess up. I don’t. I never do. We finish the combination and switch with the second group and I can tell people have noticed how quickly I’ve caught on. There’s a smug smile on my face, but I can’t find it in me to wipe it off and Octavia taps me on the butt as we pass each other - I turn and see her giving me a thumbs up, and my composure is broken a bit as I laugh.  
  


* * *

  
  
All through adagio and allegro, my eyes are on Lexa and I find it hard not to notice how perfect her movements are – sleek lines, and her balance and control are incredible. She moves elegantly but with purpose, her long legs making lithe movements seemingly easy for her.  
  
Titus splits us into groups again, by position this time, and when the principals line up for pirouettes I’m beside her in a sick twist of fate - or a sick twist of irony. More than likely irony, because she spins and _for the love of God,_ she smells the exact same as she did before. I’m slightly off-balance, and I wobble a bit as I put my foot to the floor.  
  
“Miss Clarke, mind your balance as you land your pirouettes please - foot firm to the floor. _Again_!”  
  
I catch the end of Lexa’s sideways glimpse toward me and for the first time ever, hope for class to be over quickly.

 

* * *

  
  
Classes are every other day starting from Monday, with an extended class on Sundays.  
  
It’s Monday, more than a week since the party where I met Lexa, and I feel like I’m going slightly insane.  
  
We perform reverence, and as soon as our final bow to Titus and our pianist is done and we finish clapping, I’m turning towards the dressing room.  
  
“Lexa, would you please stay behind for a moment?” Titus says, and I think she realizes by her wide-eyed look what I’ve realized it means…  
  
She won’t be able to avoid me again.  
  
Octavia and Raven catch up to me, and are silent as I take a long draw from my water.  
  
“So?” Octavia is the first to speak, ducking her head a bit as the other dancers filter in to the room. “Are you going to say something today?”  
  
“I mean, this is probably going to be my only opportunity, right?”

It didn’t seem like Lexa was all that excited to see me the first time. I say as much and Raven shrugs, taking off her t-shirt and throwing a lace camisole and loose cardigan over her sports bra, tucking black leggings into combat boots.  
  
“Honestly, she doesn’t show emotion for anything other than performances, like, _ever_. I wouldn’t take it personally,” Octavia continues, throwing an ‘Arkadia’ hoodie over her leotard and shorts.  
  
“You have to do _something_ , Clarke. There’s no way she can ignore you after what I witnessed last week,” she states. I sniff, grabbing a change of clothes from my bag. “Listen, I really have to run, I have ten minutes to get to my first class and my prof is a hard ass - but I need to hear about what happens. How about we grab lunch; does 1:30-ish work for you guys?”  
  
“Yeah, my philosophy class doesn’t start until 2 so I should be good,” Octavia adds, shaking her hair out and slinging her bag over her shoulder, moving to follow Raven out.  
  
“That’s good for me, too. I’ll text you later.”  
  
“Hey, Clarke?” Octavia stops, turning around. “Just… be careful. I’ve heard she bites.”  
  
I roll my eyes, holding back a smile as she slips out of the door before moving to the bathroom and painfully changing from my leotard and crepe skirt into a loose t-shirt, jeans and my trusty Chucks. Guys and girls bustle all around me, the room slowly emptying, and none of them are Lexa. I check my phone as I leave the bathroom and gauge how much time I can spare before I need to run to my first class.  
  
I look up just as she walks through the door, dabbing at her neck with a towel. She stops in the doorway when she sees me, glancing around as if searching for an escape route.  
  
“We’re the only ones in here. It’s going to be a little hard to ignore me this time, but you could always try.”  
  
She narrows her eyes, lifts her chin and walks with purpose to her locker. She’s silent, and I sigh heavily.  
  
“Lexa…”  
  
She stops, halting rifling through her bag. I take it as my sign to go on.  
  
“It’s nice to finally know your name, by the way.”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“I forgot to ask you at the party… although you ran off pretty quickly, and before that we-“  
  
“I’m not sure I know what you are referring to.”  
  
In hindsight, I think I prefer the week of silence to _that_.  
  
Confused, I walk over to her. Lexa goes back to rifling through her bag.  
  
“I’m sorry, did we _not_ experience the same kiss?”  
  
“Perhaps we didn’t,” she retorts.  
  
I look at her for a moment, scan her profile. I’m a little hurt, and then I’m a little angry.  
  
“Forgive me, but I don’t know where this hostility is coming from. Especially when _you_ came and found me outside, _you_ made the first move, _you_ _kissed me_ -“  
  
“And I’m telling you you’re mistaken,” she snaps, and when she turns to me there’s fire in her eyes.  
  
_Okay, new tactic before this spirals out of control.  
  
_ My hand shoots out, covering one of hers and I can feel it shaking. “ _Lexa,_ ” I murmur, softly this time.  
  
I’m looking over her face, searching for some kind of change. Her jaw flexes a bit, but she doesn’t take her hand out from under mine. I lick my lips, and her eyes follow the movement.  
  
“ _Clarke_ , I…” she mumbles, and my name has never sounded _so fucking good_.  
  
She’s taken her hair down. I reach up deliberately to brush stray hairs away, her eyes closing at my touch. This moment feels entirely too precarious. Before I realize what I’m doing, I lean forward gradually, cautiously until her breath is hot against my lips.  
  
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”  
  
All sensible thought has left me, clearly, because I am being way more forward than I anticipated.  
  
“Don’t say that.”  
  
My hand ghosts down her arm, and not closing the small distance between us is becoming unbearable.  
  
“Have you thought about it?”  
  
“ _I was drunk_ , Clarke,” she says, but her voice is low, almost a breath, and at least she’s finally acknowledging that it happened at all.  
  
“I was too, but I still remember you… _everything_ about you. This week has been torture for me, but I’m sure you knew that.”  
  
My hand moves up, resting on her jaw, my thumb brushing against her bottom lip.  
  
“ _God damn it_ ,” Lexa growls, and I’m pushed against the lockers - hands are on my waist holding me in place, and mine are in her hair when our mouths finally meet.  
  
She’s grasping at me, anywhere her hands can touch, and instead of alcohol clouding my head it’s Lexa, filling my senses - I feel dizzy off of her, off of this kiss. She pulls away a bit, and I groan.  
  
“You’re _all_ I’ve thought about all week, Clarke. Every time I see you, I feel like I can’t breathe,” she says, her lips brushing against mine as she talks.  
  
“Then why have you been ignoring me?”  
  
“Because I can’t afford to be thinking of you.”  
  
I look into her eyes, confused about what she means, and try to pull her in again.  
  
“ _Don’t_ , please,” she breathes, lurching away from me in a quick movement.  
  
“Lexa?” I reach out again, and she rips her arm away when our skin touches.  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
Before I can stop her, Lexa grabs her bag, shuts her locker and with quick strides, she’s gone.

* * *

  
  
“This doesn’t make any sense. She denies kissing you in the first place, proceeds to kiss you _again_ , and then runs away _again_. I’m not… is there something I’m missing here?”  
  
“Just that you forgot to emphasize _her_ kissing _me_. _She kissed me_ , _both times_!” I yelp, throwing the unfinished half of my bagel onto my plate.  
  
“Whoa there. Drink, you’re getting hysterical,” Octavia urges, coming back to the table with a full tray of drinks and holding my disposable cup up to my face. I take it gratefully and sip.  
  
Ah, coffee, the nectar of the college gods.  
  
“I’m not sure if I asked this before, but is anyone else still reeling over the fact that we’re talking about _Commander Lexa_ here?” Raven says, glancing between us.  
  
“Yes, yeah, I am. Aside from the kissing thing in general, she's doing it with _you_ ,” Octavia replies.  
  
“Thanks, O…”  
  
“No, no, I meant you’re a girl! I didn’t know Commander Lexa swings that way.”  
  
“For the purposes of this conversation, can we please just call her Lexa?” I retort.  
  
“Okay, I didn’t know _Lexa_ swung both ways. Happy now?”  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“How are we even sure she _does_? Maybe she’s just looking for that good ‘ol college experimentation,” Raven interjects.  
  
I give her a withering look. “Are you trying to make me feel better? Because if you are, please stop.”  
  
“Aw, Clarkey-poo,” Octavia interrupts with a pout, throwing her arm around my shoulder.  
  
“Okay, here’s what you have to do,” Raven exclaims, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You have to find out what kind of car she drives.”  
  
“What does her car have to do with anything?”  
  
“The kind of car a girl drives – it’s very indicative of who she is as a person. It says a lot about her,” Raven explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“Okay… that sounds fake, but okay,” I reply.  
  
Octavia leans back, talking to me from behind her hand. “She’s a mechanic, so maybe we should give her a chance.”  
  
I sigh, motioning with my hands for her to go on.  
  
“There are certain things about every car that set it apart from the rest, make it different. Like, for example, what kind of car do you drive?”  
  
“A Nissan Pathfinder?”  
  
“New or old?”  
  
“I got it as a graduation present from my Mom, so…”  
  
“Year?”  
  
“2012.”  
  
“Color?”  
  
“Navy.”  
  
“Ahh, I see…”  
  
“ _What_ do you see?”  
  
“You drive a mid-size SUV, import; you got it brand new as a present from your parents. When I asked you the color, you could’ve said something like ‘I don’t know, _blue_?’ or ‘dark’, but you said navy instead,” Raven explains, stroking her chin. “So clearly, you come from a privileged background. ‘Princess’ makes even more sense now. You’re artistic, you were popular or knew a lot of people back home – hence the need for all the seats. And you’re bisexual.”  
  
I sit back, stunned into silence… and a little scared.  
  
“ _How the hell_ …”  
  
“Was I close?”  
  
Octavia looks between us, sitting up in her chair.  
  
“So... how do I find out what kind of car she drives?”  
  
“ _Yes_!” Raven throws a celebratory fist into the air, getting up and doing a victory dance as Octavia and I are doubled over with laughter, trying to get her to sit down.

* * *

  
  
“Do you have your towel? You know how annoyed you get when sand gets in your shorts, I don’t want to hear about that shit.”  
  
“Yes, Bellamy.”  
  
“And your chocolate? For the s’mores? You won’t eat that shit everyone else always brings, and I don’t want you whining all night.”  
  
“Yes! Oh my god - chill out _, Mom_.”  
  
“Don’t you ever call me that again.”  
  
“Are you going to call her ‘young lady’, too, Bell?” Monty says, throwing his bag into the back of my car.  
  
Bellamy turns, fixing a hard stare at Monty who whimpers and turns toward me.  
  
“Can I sit in the front? My sense of self-preservation isn’t going to allow me to be in a confined space with him for an extended period of time.”  
  
“Fuck off, Mont! I called shotgun like, three years ago,” Raven quips.  
  
“I’ll sit beside Mommy. You and Jasper can have the back seat all to yourselves,” Octavia intersects.  
  
“I swear to _God_ , Octavia, if you call me that _one more time_ -“  
  
“You’ll send her to her room?” I retort, and all but Bellamy erupt into laughter. I shrug, “Sorry, I had to do it.”  
  
“Whatever, assholes. Let’s get this show on the road,” he responds.  
  
It’s Monday night, and Bellamy’s fraternity was throwing what I had come to learn was their annual bonfire - a reward to everyone for getting through the first week of classes. I was incredibly thankful for the distraction.  
  
We’re just about done loading up my car when Raven yells, pulling out her phone.  
  
“We need to get a picture first… Hey, you!” she says, pointing to a student walking by. She walks over to him and has a quick conversation, handing him her phone and walking back up to us. “Alright, everybody look cute!”  
  
Raven, Octavia and I sit on the back end of my car, the hatchback popped open, and Jasper and Monty stand on either side of us. Bellamy crouches down in front, and we snap a couple of pictures, one serious and one silly, before thanking the cameraman and loading into the car.  
  
We pull out of campus just as the sky is turning dark, and Raven plugs my AUX cord into her phone, scrolling through for a second before picking a song.  
  
We reach the beach around 8:00, and even from the parking lot I can see the bonfire is already huge. I park and open the trunk, and we move to the back of the car to grab our towels and blankets.  
  
“Oh, _shit_ …”  
  
“What’s up?” I mumble, helping Bellamy lower the cooler full of ice and drinks to the ground.  
  
“ _They’re_ here again.”  
  
“Who?” I say, looking up and following Raven’s gaze.  
  
A dark car pulls into the parking spot across from ours, and when a tall, slim figure with wild hair and dark kohl eyeliner steps out of the passenger seat – Anya - I already know what’s coming next.  
  
“Hey, Bell? What kind of car is that?”  
  
Bellamy turns, squinting. The light from the bonfire casts an orange glow on it, making it a little hard to see.  
  
“Um, hello? That’s a Subaru Forester,” Monty says.  
  
“What year?”  
  
“Looks like a 2005, maybe?”  
  
“Color?”  
  
“Black. Actually, black _pearl_ on a year like that if you want to get technical.”  
  
Gustus and Indra file out next. Then I see her, windswept hair flowing, wearing tight black ripped jeans, a grey tank top and those _god damn Doc Martens_.  
  
“Damn,” Raven says, whistling. “That girl is a _lesbian_.”  
  
“Wait, just because she drives a Subaru?” Monty says.  
  
“Only lesbians drive Subaru’s.”  
  
“ _I_ drive a Subaru.”  
  
“Yeah, but _you’re_ Asian, so…”  
  
“ _I’m from Utah_!”  
  
“I… think that’s racist,” Jasper responds.  
  
Lexa meets my gaze and it might just be the light of the bonfire, but her eyes are smoldering.  
  
“This is going to be one hell of a party,” Raven says, bumping my hip with hers.  
  
_Hell_. Yes, this party is going to be _Hell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented, bookmarked, subscribed and gave me kudos last chapter. I really wasn't expecting anything and I'm still not sure what the majority of that means, but seeing it all was so, so lovely I can't even describe it.
> 
> Once again, any feedback is appreciated and gives me warm fuzzies inside. <3
> 
> \--
> 
> Félicitations à vous - Congratulations  
> Si vous plait - Please  
> Commencer - Begin, start  
> Réunir, se réunir - Reunite, gather around  
> Plié (grand, demi) - Folded (large, half); a bending of the knees, until the thighs are horizontal.  
> Pas de deux - A duet.  
> Tendu - Tense; one leg stretched from the body, with a foot arched, touching the floor.  
> Pirouettes - Pretty-ass twirls.  
> Révérence - Reverence, respect; bowing to your teachers and pianist as a form of respect.  
> Barre - Barre work is warming up and stretching your body.  
> Center, adagio and allegro - Center work is barre without the barre; adagio works on balance and control; allegro is the exciting parts, with turns and jumps.


	3. earth to clarke

  
  
  
“Hello? Clarke, are you listening? _Earth to Clarke_?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I was asking if you wanted another drink?”  
  
I peer down at my half-empty beer, then scan the party. Raven is taking a shot with Octavia and Monty; Bellamy and Jasper, predictably at the beer pong table.  
  
My new friend Finn - who I’ve taken to internally calling Flippy for the following reason - shakes his hair out of his eyes for the millionth time during our conversation and shoots me a too-bright white smile.  
  
“ _Yeah_ , another drink would be great.”  
  
With a heavy sigh, I settle down on a log around the bonfire. This night definitely had not turned out how I was hoping. I was anticipating a good time to help me forget about recent events; some drinks, some dancing, some s’mores. Instead, I’ve spent the majority of my time thus far avoiding the very thing I set out to clear from my mind.  
  
This task proved to be almost impossible – she was _fucking everywhere_ I looked, and if it wasn’t her, it was her terrifying yet strangely attractive friends.  
  
“As requested, a drink for the lady.”  
  
I gratefully take the cold beer, twist off the top and take a long pull. Flippy watches me drink for a moment, then clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair.  
  
“So, I was telling you about my band… we play shows around campus at least once a month.”  
  
“Sweet. Any coming up soon?”  
  
His eyebrows raise, surprised at my interest – honestly, I’m surprised as well.  
  
“Yeah! At the end of the month, actually... How about I give you my number? So I can text you the details.”  
  
_Smooth.  
  
_ Now, normally, I would stay far away from this – frat boy, long hair, plays guitar, in a band – but the alcohol is making my face tingle and my cheeks warm and I don’t really care anymore.  
  
I grab my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and hand it to him, taking another sip from my drink as he taps away.  
  
Finn continues telling me about his band – it has a weird name, ‘The Spacewalkers’ or something. I pretend not to notice him getting closer to me, and ignore it all together when he puts his hand on my knee as he explains the differences between an Ibanez and Epiphone like I’m a third grader learning fractions for the first time. I keep quiet and pretend this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a whammy bar, because I’m too buzzed to bother telling him I’ve been playing since my Dad taught me when I was thirteen.  
  
I feel an arm around my shoulder, and his face pales. I turn to see Octavia with her eyes narrowed toward him.  
  
“ _Hey_ , O! Have you met my new friend, Floppy?”  
  
“ _Floppy_? What?”  
  
“Sorry! I meant _Flippy_.”  
  
“Flippy? Clarke, are you high?” Octavia says, feeling my forehead.  
  
“No, are _you_ high?”  
  
“If I were, it would explain why this sack of ass is talking to you. Finn, can you please go be sleazy somewhere else?”  
  
Finn visibly swallows. “Catch you later, Clarke,” he rushes out, getting up so fast he kicks sand up behind him.  
  
“The hell was _that_?” I say - and damn it, I’m slurring a bit.  
  
“That was Raven’s freshman year mistake. You should be thanking me for saving your cute little behind -  both from him and from her seeing the two of you."  
  
“Ex-boyfriend? I had no idea, he never mentioned anything about it.”  
  
“He probably had no idea who you were. Either way, he's scum.”  
  
“I’m guessing things didn’t end well?”  
  
Octavia exaggeratedly scoffs, dramatically rolling her eyes. “ _Didn’t end well_? What a fucking understatement. He cheated on her.”  
  
“Sack of ass, indeed,” I reply, taking a long drink from my beer.  
  
“Come on, I have a bottle of whisky with your name on it.”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
I’m not sure how long I drink for or even how much I drink, but before I know it I’m three songs in to some wildly inappropriate dancing with Octavia.  
  
I’m not imprudent enough to ignore that fact that Octavia is ridiculously good-looking - nor am I totally blind to the fact that she is extremely comfortable with pressing her chest against my back, running her hands down my sides and grabbing my hips. I almost choke on my surprise and spin around, mouth dropped open. Octavia’s lips are pursed, holding in laughter.  
  
The song ends and we move out of the crowd before the next one starts, breathlessly giggling.  
  
“Take it from me, your local bisexual – that was the gayest I have ever seen you,” I say when we’re far away enough from the music that I can hear myself think.  
  
“You'd be surprised,” she winks, stopping in front of a cooler to hand me a bottle of water.  
  
“ _Um_ , elaborate please.”  
  
She mimes zipping her lips together and throwing away a key, and I’m about to insist further when a loud whistle interrupts me. I turn and Monty, Jasper and Raven are behind us.  
  
“Ladies! Pinch me so I know it's real,” Jasper says, fanning himself.  
  
“Shut up, you heathen,” Raven says between gritted teeth, landing a punch directly on his bicep.  
  
“Ow! I said _pinch_ , not punch… damn,” he whimpers, rubbing his arm.  
  
I catch Raven’s eye, raising a questioning brow – she gives me a tight smile, coming over to bump her shoulder against mine.  
  
“Should I be apologizing? I feel like I should be apologizing,” I quietly hurry out, stumbling over my words.  
  
Raven makes a ‘tsk’ sound. “Girl, no – Octavia’s not my property or something, I don’t care,” she sniffs. “Anyway, I think you’ll be happy to know that the Commander was watching you the entire time. I’m surprised you didn’t freeze – the look she was giving you two… _icy_.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Hell yeah. Her eyes were all -”  
  
“ - Scary. She looked like she was going to cut a bitch,” Monty interjects, coming to stand on my other side.  
  
I look up, and instantly regret it.  
  
Across from me, with a red cup in her hand and a steely look directed right at me, is Lexa. My chest feels heavy and my stomach turns, and I wish I could say it was because of the alcohol.  
  
“Damn, that bitch is everywhere tonight,” Raven says. “If I were you, I’d be pissed.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
She scoffs loudly, turning toward me. “Because all she’s done is ignore you and send you mixed signals, and when you go out to have a good time she shows up and you have to _hide_? That’s a little bit of fresh bullshit if you ask me.”  
  
Deep down, Sober Clarke calmly agrees – but Drunk Clarke is tipsy and frustrated, and it translates directly to anger.  
  
“Alcohol please,” I bite out, and Raven hands me her cup.  
  
“Here, finish mine. You need it more than I do.”  
  
I down it in seconds, throwing the red plastic cup behind me and head straight toward the cooler, pulling out Octavia’s bottle of whisky. I take off the cap and throw some back, my nose burning and my eyes watering.  
  
"I've come to the conclusion that you're right and I no longer care," I say to Raven, who laughs and grabs the bottle from my hand, taking a drink.  
  
"To not giving a shit and thinking about the consequences some other time!"  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
"I think this was a terrible mistake."  
  
It's Octavia's voice, but it sounds far away and muffled, like I'm underwater. All I can focus on is whoever is touching my forehead and how they have hot hands that make me sweat even more than I was before.  
  
"Warm," I manage to get out.  
  
"Shit, go and get her a fucking cold towel or something. Clarke, thank God. Do you know what happened?"  
  
I rub my eyes, cracking them open to see Octavia's face above mine. My head is in her lap, and I'm lying on something uncomfortable as hell.  
  
"Damn. Did I pass out?"  
  
"More like you blacked out. I've never seen someone consume so much alcohol in such a small period of time."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"Not to mention those body shots you and Raven… wait, where's Raven?"  
  
"Hnnnggg…"  
  
"Damn it. Clarke, honey? Are you going to be okay if I try and find Raven? I won't be long, just a few minutes."  
  
I put a hand up and wave in what I'm hoping looks like reassurance, but probably just looks sloppy - which is how I feel.  
  
Octavia helps me sit up and hands me a bottle of water, assuring me that Monty will be back soon. I hear her flip flops moving away from me, and finally look around and see I'm in the parking lot.  
  
_Classy, Griffin. So very classy.  
  
_ I grab my bottle of water and push myself up enough to balance on my feet.  
  
That's a start, at least.  
  
I start walking until the ground looks like it's expanding and growing, and realize too late that it's actually just me falling forward.  
  
" _Woah_. Clarke? Are you okay?"  
  
Okay, now I am _definitely_ confused.  
  
Lexa's arms are around my waist, pulling me against her chest to keep me upright. I'm too shocked to respond.  
  
"Clarke? _Clarke_?"  
  
"No, yeah, I'm fine. I'm okay," I finally choke out, pushing myself away from her and running a hand through my hair. I spot my car behind her shoulder and wordlessly brush past her.  
  
"Are you sure? Here, let me – "  
  
She reaches out to grab my arm and I wrench myself away, going against everything in my body that tells me not to.  
  
"I'm _fine_."  
  
She presses her lips together, furrowing her brows slightly and I don't wait for her to reply.  
  
I make quick strides to my car, and I can hear her behind me the entire time. Reaching out for the door handle, she grabs my hand.  
  
"You are _not_ getting into that driver's seat, Clarke."  
  
Her eyes are dark, her jaw set.  
  
" _Please_ don't treat me like an idiot. I need to lie down, and I'd rather do it in my car than on the god damn pavement. So if you don't mind…"  
  
I finally open the door and immediately wish I hadn't.  
  
"Oh my God!" I shriek, throwing my hands over my eyes.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
" _Anya_?"  
  
"Lexa?"  
  
It's Bellamy, in my driver's seat, with a half-naked Anya on sitting on his lap.  
  
Lexa slams the car door shut and looks at the ground wordlessly. There's muffled yelling, some shifting. The wheels squeak a bit and the door opens again.  
  
Anya and Lexa move to the side, having a quiet but heated conversation. I face Bellamy, who looks so much like a kicked puppy it's almost comical.  
  
"Right now, in this moment, I don't give a rat's ass that you were just making hanky _in my car_. I want to get home and maybe throw up and go to bed. _Capiche_?"  
  
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
"Do you have my keys?"  
  
"Yeah, but I'm drunk. I can't drive."  
  
The terrible moment is exacerbated when Monty, Jasper and Octavia come back with our cooler, Raven trailing along behind them.  
  
"Are _any_ of you sober?" I ask with a small shred of hope.  
  
"No, we… didn't really plan this, did we?" Monty says.  
  
I rub my temples, trying to work my foggy brain through the logistics of a cab ride home for all of us.  
  
"I can drive. I didn't drink anything," Lexa announces, her arms crossed. She looks directly at me as she says it.  
  
"What about your car and your friends?" Octavia interjects.  
  
"Gustus didn't drink, either. He can drive them back in my car. We'll meet up on campus to exchange keys."  
  
It takes me a moment to notice Anya has disappeared from the group and is already at Lexa's car, making a point of turning her entire body the opposite direction from us.  
  
"I think that's our best option right now," Jasper hedges.  
  
"Alright then, let's get this over with," Raven speaks up, shoving past Octavia with a sharp look, hopping into the back of the car.  
  
I raise an eyebrow at her, and she shakes her head and follows Raven.  
  
"Clarke?"  
  
Turning, Lexa is right behind me, much closer than expected. Her breath ghosts over my face, and my eyes flutter closed for a moment of their own volition. I hand her the keys and quickly make my way around into the passenger seat. She climbs in, clicking her seatbelt and starting the car. Gustus pulls out with a honk and a flash of his lights, and we're moving.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
I hear the soft sounds of snoring, and a look into the rear view mirror confirms everyone has passed out.  
  
Great - now it's just Lexa, me and an increasingly awkward silence.  
  
I watch her from my peripheral vision, both of her hands tightly on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.  
  
"Did you have a good time?"  
  
Her voice cuts through the silence so sharply it almost sounds loud, her tone slightly cold. I juggle with the idea of not responding.  
  
"Sure."  
  
That's good enough. Succinct, to the point, no elaborating – no asking if _her_ night was fun, not much room for more of a discussion.  
  
"Did you meet a lot of new people?"  
  
"You sound like my mother picking me up from a birthday party. _Why do you care_?"  
  
Her jaw flexes.  
  
"I'm merely making conversation, Clarke. I didn't know that was a crime."  
  
"Friends have conversations. Actually, even _acquaintances_ have conversations. You've kissed me - _twice -_  so we're _definitely_ not acquaintances but you've made it very clear that we aren’t friends, either."  
  
She looks away from the road for a moment to glance at me and I turn away, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the window.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Miraculously, we make it back to campus. Lexa drops the boys off first, and we wait until they get inside before heading to our dormitory.  
  
We get out of the car, Raven heading inside without a word. Octavia watches her for a moment, turns and shoots us a withering look before following behind her.  
  
Lexa leans against the car, propping a foot up and it feels like deja-vu when I look at her, spinning my keys around her finger.  
  
"Gustus should be here soon. You can go inside; I'll bring you your keys."  
  
I sit on the curb with a heavy sigh, wrapping my arms around my knees and looking up at her.  
  
"It's fine, I'll wait."  
  
She nods silently, still twirling the keys.  
  
"You were talking to Finn Collins?" she says, abruptly.  
  
I don't reply, knowing how cold I'm being but still slightly drunk and entirely too frustrated to care just yet.  
  
"He is… not a good person," she says, and there's tension in her voice. "He's done terrible things; I just want you to be aware."  
  
" _Yes, Commander_ ," I say, quiet enough that I assume she can't hear me.  
  
" _Don't_ call me that," she snaps. "I can handle it from your friends or other girls in the company, but not from you."  
  
"Again, just what exactly _am I_ to you, Lexa? Your friend or your enemy? Take your time, decide – get back to me when you figure it out, because I sure as hell can't."  
  
"There's a lot you don't know about me – "  
  
"Oh, so now you're that girl? 'Don't get to know me, Clarke, I'm bad news'?"  
  
"That's not what I meant," she says quietly, her eyes looking anywhere but at me.  
  
"Then how _did_ you mean it?" I bite, standing up and wobbling slightly. I notice her start to reach out before second guessing and putting her arm to her side, forearm flexing, hand clenched into a fist.  
  
"I meant… I don't - it's complicated."  
  
"It's always complicated though, isn't it?"  
  
"Clarke, you barely even know me – "  
  
"And whose fault is that?"  
  
Her eyes narrow.  
  
"Oh, now she's angry? Now _she's_ angry?! That's _hilarious_!" I say, about to start another idiotic tirade – and she flinches as if I've raised a hand to slap her.  
  
My resolve starts to crumble instantly and I futilely try to build it back up, but it's an uphill battle when she's looking at the ground and her eyelashes are casting shadows on her cheeks, and my brain is buzzing and under the glow of the street lights she's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to – "  
  
I'm moving toward her, a stupid moth drawn to the brightest flame. One of my hands rests on the small of her back, the other finds purchase on the side of her neck. She sighs like a weight has just been taken off her chest, and I wonder when I'll be able to stop myself from doing things I know will only hurt later on.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says, and I pull her toward me and we're not kissing. I'm holding her, her head resting against my shoulder and her arms grabbing the fabric on my sides tightly. Her lips brush against my neck with her whispered apologies, and I can't stop the shiver that wracks my spine.  
  
My hand tangles into her hair, grasping at the nape of her neck.  
  
"I want you," she breathes into my hair. "I just can't."  
  
The quiet puttering of an engine breaks the heavy silence, and she untangles herself from me slowly, unwillingly. Gustus pulls up behind my car and hops out, locking her car behind him. She walks over to him, and I hear him saying something about walking back to his place, and Lexa insists she can give him a ride. I assume he wins, because a moment later he starts walking down the sidewalk toward the men's dorms.  
  
She walks back, a little bit past me, pauses. Waits for me to catch up. When we reach the door she holds it open for me, and we silently make our way through the halls.  
  
I struggle to find something to say and come up with nothing, the night's events finally catching up to me and making my thoughts slow and sluggish. By the time we reach my place, I can barely keep my eyes open.  
  
"Give me your phone."  
  
"What?"  
  
Lexa reaches out and plucks my phone from my front jeans pocket, tapping around a bit and handing it back to me. It's open to the 'Contacts' screen, and still highlighted is a new contact:  
  
_'Lexa Woods'_  
  
Before I can muster up a response she turns and quickly walks down the hall, disappearing around a corner.  
  
I fumble with my key in the lock and stumble inside, throwing my shoes off and trying to quietly make my way to my bedroom, my head foggy. I can see the light in Octavia's room is on from the crack under her door, and there are soft voices having a conversation that I couldn't make out even if I were sober.  
  
Mercifully, I make it to my room unscathed, throwing my shirt and jeans off and heavily collapsing in bed. I find my phone somewhere in the sheets and manage to tap out a message.  
  
_[2:07am]  
Clarke:   
Goodnight, Lexa Woods._  
  
A moment later, my phone chirps.  
  
_[2:08am]  
Lexa:   
Goodnight, Clarke Griffin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, what an inexcusably long wait. I know this chapter probably doesn't make up for it, but I'll be updating twice this week so hopefully that does? I'm not too sure. Writer's block really got me on this one.
> 
> My birthday is this week, so if you feel so inclined to drop me a comment with your thoughts so far as a present, I would be ecstatic. Until next time. xx


	4. rhyme of another summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A flashback and a different POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Clarke dances to is "Comptine d'un autre été: L'Après-Midi" by Yann Tiersen.

_Before_

 

  
  
  
  
The air feels crisp and warm, and smells slightly like burning grass and cotton as she shifts her large duffel bag farther up her shoulder and blows a wisp of hair from her eyes.  
  
Looking around, the girl can’t help but study the people all around her, standing in groups chatting excitedly or rolling luggage behind them and looking around with both terror and disbelief etched across their features. She shuts the hatchback of her car with a loud thud and readjusts her bag, steeling her face into a mask of cool indifference as she works her way through the bustle.  
  
It would be easy to make friends here, she thinks – surrounded by a group of people whose interests directly align with hers. Yes, very easy, but entirely impossible. Much too distracting.  
  
She walks toward the building with no real idea of where she should be going, stopping for a brief moment to look up and read the name in reverence. She looks side to side, checking for anyone that may be watching, and quickly pulls out her phone, snapping a picture – her mother asked for them, and she’s just delivering… obviously.  
  
Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, she studies the picture on her phone to make sure it came out clearly. Reading the words on the screen, she can’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upward slightly:  
  
_‘Griffin Academy for the Arts’_

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
She looks down at the sheet in her hands and back up again, making sure the number on the door matches with the one on her paper before knocking lightly. There’s a shuffle, then a lock clicking and the door is opened.  
  
The girl on the other side is tall and tanned, her wild dark blonde hair rolling over her shoulders and framing her stern face. She raises an eyebrow, scanning the other girl in return.  
  
“ _You’re_ my roommate?” she says, her voice low and even.  
  
“Yes, hi. You must be…” she stops, looks down at the paper again. “Anya?”  
  
Anya nods, stepping back to let her in. She enters the room quickly, dropping her bag to the ground with a dull thump and rubbing her shoulder where the strap had been digging into her skin.  
  
“I’m Lexa. Lexa Woods.”  
  
Lexa holds out her hand, and Anya raises an eyebrow at it, turning away.  
  
“I took the bed closest to the door. I hate being by the window,” she says, throwing herself onto said bed, folding one arm under her head and grabbing the magazine she seemingly discarded when she came to the door.  
  
Lexa nods, unconcerned, and takes a moment to look around the room: two twin beds, parallel to each other against one wall and separated by a night stand; a large window; a dresser; two small desks; a door to what she assumes is the bathroom. She isn’t bothered at all by the lack of furnishings – not much is needed for only four weeks, and she figures most of the time here will be spent outside of this room anyway.  
  
“So,” she says, lifting her bag onto her bed and beginning to unpack her things. “Where are you from?”  
  
“Arizona.”  
  
She isn’t sure why she’s trying to continue a conversation with someone who seems so completely uninterested – _no friends, no time for friends_ she reminds herself. She reasons that they will be spending a fair amount of time with each other, and going through the whole thing without any communication whatsoever would be entirely too uncomfortable.  
  
But this girl doesn’t seem too inclined to continue their conversation, so Lexa shrugs, nonplussed, and turns away to continue taking her things out of her bag. She sees Anya from her peripheral vision, watching her curiously from behind her magazine, just dark eyes and arched eyebrows showing before she sighs and casts it to the side.  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Anya bites the side of thumb, leaning back heavily against her headboard and crossing her ankles. “Where are you from?”  
  
“Oh, um… Washington state.”  
  
She nods slowly. “Thought so. You seem like the outdoorsy type. You go on hikes and eat trail mix and all that bullshit?”  
  
Lexa feels the corner of her mouth lift up in an almost-laugh. “Kind of, yes.”  
  
Anya makes a noncommittal sound and continues with her ministrations as Lexa organizes the rest of her stuff – toiletries in a small pouch in the bathroom; her pitifully tiny makeup bag on the desk closest to her bed, along with her laptop.  
  
“Want to grab some food? I’m fucking starving.”  
  
“Do you know where the dining hall is?”  
  
“Not a clue, but we’ll figure it out.”

 

  


* * *

 

 

  
They have a few days between when they arrive and when their classes start, and in that time, Lexa and Anya unexpectedly bond. Surprisingly, their two strong personalities don’t butt heads, but rather balance each other out – Lexa, quietly authoritative and able to command a situation with just a few simple words; and Anya, brash and slightly abrasive, little to no filter between her brain and her mouth.  
  
They spend the days exploring the campus and sitting in the large theatre within the school, watching the production currently in rehearsal – a recital, various students of all art departments performing their chosen pieces. Today, they take their lunches with them and settle in to a couple of seats in the middle row of the theatre. There are already a few people present, and Anya leans forward to tap the girl sitting in front of them on the shoulder.  
  
“What are they doing today?” Anya asks, her voice hushed.  
  
“Ballet, finally,” the girl responds. “You only missed the first one. It took forever for them to get the lighting right, the poor girl looked like she was going to pass out after the third time they asked her to run through her routine front to back.”  
  
Anya snorts. “Weak. Three times for one routine is nothing. Try having to run through the entirety of ‘The Nutcracker’ three times, without stopping – _as a corps de ballet._ ”  
  
Lexa winces at the image. “Your instructor must have been pretty intense.”  
  
“Either way, this should be good. Submit your scores at the end,” she replies, and Lexa lets out a soft snort. Ballet dancers never really cease to be competitive with each other, do they?  
  
The lights turn down, and the theatre becomes silent. The stage is black, and then a soft sapphire light slowly fills the expanse as a graceful figure glides to center stage, gossamer skirt flowing behind it. A moment later, the whole stage turns into a brilliant night sky, delicate twinkling projections of stars filling the space. Lexa leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as the first few piano chords ring out, and she gasps, immediately recognizing the song.  
  
An overhead light casts an ivory glow on loose, honey golden hair, flushed cheeks and rosy lips and Lexa’s heart beats so solid and strong she can feel it in her throat. The sinuous shape flows, fluent and supple through her turns and leaps. Lexa forgets to be critical at all, completely swept away, and when it ends a few minutes later her heart aches. The girl comes to downstage center and elegantly bows.  
  
There is a moment where there is still, deafening quiet. Lexa can see the girl’s face crumble for a moment and then she is sitting up in her seat and clapping, perhaps louder than she ever has, certainly louder than is acceptable for a room less than a quarter of the way full. The rest of the audience joins, and the girl closes her eyes for a moment, a heavy breath she seemed to be holding in leaving her, full of relief.  
  
When all is hushed once more, a voice rings out from the front row. “That was gorgeous, Clarke. Absolutely lovely. Can I have it once more, starting from slightly more upstage?”  
  
Anya lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. Lexa turns to her slightly, the girl – Clarke, did he say? Such a strange name – still visible to her.  
  
“Holy hell, _of course_ it’s Clarke Griffin,” she bites, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair – she knows this now as the classic Anya stance of practiced indifference. “She’s Abigail Griffin’s daughter.”  
  
“ _Abby Griffin_? I used to have a poster of her on my wall when I was younger. Actually, I think I still do,” the girl sitting in front of them gapes, fully turning around in her seat. On either side of them, people have caught on to their conversation as well and are leaning in, much too keenly.  
  
“That’s the one. No wonder she looks like she’s in high school, too – she _damn well_ is. Now we know what money and a flawless lineage of dancers, spanning _fucking generations_ , will get you,” Anya continues, and chatter erupts all around her.  
  
She drowns it out, watching as the girl bends and stretches, the lights still casting galaxies on the stage.  
  
Lexa watches and contemplates that if she didn’t know any better, she would think the girl had been carved out of the stars themselves.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
They’re a week and a half into their four-week intensive, and Lexa keeps thinking about Clarke Griffin.  
  
Lexa had hoped to push thoughts of the girl from her mind, too scared that if she let them dwell, they might consume her. It was seemingly an easy task – she had two classes a day, five times a week, and the girl was mercifully in none of them. She was in no position to be distracted, the knowledge that several scouts from various colleges were present at their classes.  
  
It became even more impossible when Anya would come back to their dorm, slam the door behind her, and sarcastically regale Lexa with every possible detail she could about Clarke – who was, unfortunately, in two of Anya’s classes.  
  
“And then he asked her to grand jeté, and I swear on my left tit that half the class was praying she would fall on her ass.”  
  
“Did she?” Lexa asks, trying to sound disinterested, focusing much too intently on her laptop resting on her folded legs.  
  
“Hell no! She was perfect. Fucking perfect,” she groans, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the mattress.  
  
Lexa tries to bite her tongue, but the words are out before she can stop them.  
  
“Why do you dislike her so much? It seems to me as if maybe you’re jealous?”  
  
The look Anya gives her, sitting up and resting on her forearms, is icy.  
  
“Yes, Lexa. I am jealous. I am extremely jealous. She has had every opportunity handed to her, and I _so_ wish she was a terrible dancer so I could _maybe_ have a reason to feel bad for her. But she isn’t, so I hate her.”  
  
Lexa can think of a million better ways to respond, but she chooses this:  
  
She laughs.  
  
Loudly.  
  
It starts at the base of her throat, the effort to hold it in becoming too much, and then it is a full-bodied laugh and her laptop is placed beside her and she’s rolled onto her back, her knees tucked into her chest. Through her watering eyes she can see Anya pursing her lips, her face red from holding back, and it only sets her off more.  
  
They go to bed that night after laughing so loudly, the occupants of the room next to theirs bang on the wall to get them to stop.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

  
  
_Four Weeks Later_

 

 

 

  
  
“Are you sure you want to go?”  
  
Anya sighs, throwing whatever she was holding onto the bathroom counter and walking out. “Yeah, fuck it, why not.”  
  
Anya looks great, her hair straight and her makeup dark and smudgy. Lexa ruffles her hair up a bit, inspecting herself in the full-length mirror by the door. Was mascara and the lipstick she stole from her mother’s vanity enough?  
  
“You look really nice,” she says, frowning at her reflection a bit.  
  
Anya arches an eyebrow. “You do, too. Why are you looking at yourself like that?”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“You have sad puppy dog eyes.”  
  
“I don’t!”  
  
“You do,” Anya insists, pursing her lips in thought. “Are you willing to trust me for a second?”  
  
“I… suppose so.”  
  
Anya walks to the bathroom and comes back out with something small in her hands. Without warning, she strides over to Lexa, takes her chin in one of her hands and instructs her to close her eyes.  
  
After a small struggle – _“it’s called fucking eyeliner, you dweeb! Relax!”_ \-  and some teary-eyed laughter, she turns Lexa toward the mirror again with a triumphant smirk.  
  
“Voila. Looking good, Woods.”  
  
Lexa, surprisingly, agrees.

 

  


* * *

 

 

  
  
They’re on their way to the theatre, and she is nervous for some reason.  
  
No, not some reason. One reason.  
  
She had been completely successful in personally avoiding the Griffin girl the entirety of their stay on the campus – a miraculous feat, really, all things considered. Aside from the occasional rant from Anya, she had been focused, completely on top of her game, and it had showed. Throwing herself into her dancing harder than she ever had was paying off, and she could go home with a reason to celebrate – a few scouts had approached her, and she had been happy but not ecstatic. She was waiting for just one, and a couple of days ago it had happened - a scout from Arkadia had approached her and asked if Lexa could give her a call when she got back to Washington to discuss a scholarship.  
  
Tonight was the student showcase, and after that, one more day of classes before they were to go home. It felt bittersweet. Lexa had really come to genuinely like Anya, and would even go so far as calling them friends - the irony that her first thought when arriving was to not make any at all was not lost on her. She wasn’t sure whether Anya had any offers or not – she truly hoped she did. They had one class together, and what Lexa had seen of her was spectacular.  
  
One of the girls from their class – Monroe, Lexa recalled - found them in the line waiting to enter the theatre, bouncing excitedly on her toes.  
  
“There’s an after party somewhere on campus after the show. You guys in?”  
  
Lexa is about to kindly reject the offer, but thinks better of it. It’s her last night, and thus far she has been on the absolute straight and narrow. Either way, Anya seems to answer for the both of them.  
  
“Hell fucking yeah, we’ll be there. About time you squares got down and dirty.”

 

  


* * *

 

 

  
  
The party is much less rowdy than either Anya or Lexa were expecting – much to Anya’s chagrin and Lexa’s relief. She’s still not sure where they are – the layout is much more like an apartment, less like a dorm, with a kitchen and a separate bedroom and living area.  
  
Across the room, resting her hand on someone’s shoulder to balance herself as she laughs, is Clarke Griffin.  
  
“Do it.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Lexa says, raising her eyebrows at Anya.  
  
“Do it. Go talk to her. You’ve been making those weird eyes at her.”  
  
“She doesn’t know me, at all. I’ve never even spoken to her.”  
  
“So?”  
  
Lexa rolls her eyes. “ _So_ , that would be weird.”  
  
“Well, you’re just going to tell her how much you enjoyed her performance, aren’t you?” Anya quips.  
  
Lexa swallows, hard. “Yeah, of course. I think she would appreciate the compliment, especially from another dancer.”  
  
“Right, okay. So do it.”  
  
Of course, it was _just_ a compliment. She wanted to let the girl know that she did a wonderful job. There were no other intentions… so why was she _so_ _fucking edgy_?  
  
Without a second thought – if she considered it any longer, she wouldn’t be doing it at all – she walks toward her. If all fails, she can maybe make some small talk about the school, pretending the whole time like she doesn’t know who she really is.  
  
A tall, attractive man with dark skin and a radiant white smile sidles up to Clarke, wrapping his arm around her waist and leaning down to kiss her.  
  
Lexa’s face warms and she stops walking, midway to her destination. She turns, making quick strides back to Anya.  
  
“We’re leaving now.”  
  
“What, why?” the girl whines, putting her drink down as Lexa hooks their arms and leads them to the door.  
  
She doesn’t bother answering, the knot in her stomach twisting.

 

  


* * *

 

 

  
  
“So this is it, huh?”  
  
Lexa shuts the hatchback of her car, and turns around to look at Anya. It was early, only one other student in the parking lot at their car. She wanted to avoid the drawn out goodbyes.  
  
“Yes. It was nice to meet you,” Lexa says, holding her hand out.  
  
Anya smirks at it and hits it away, grabbing Lexa into a hug that she takes a moment to return.  
  
“Try not to miss me too much, it’s only a few months.”  
  
“I’m sorry?” she says, pulling away.  
  
Anya’s grin is still on her face, and she feigns nonchalance as she says again, “it’s only a few months.”  
  
“A few months until what?”  
  
“Until I see you at Arkadia.”  
  
There are few times in her life Lexa has been this confused.  
  
“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me you had an offer, too, you fucking jerk.”  
  
Realization clicks, and she feels her mouth pull into a wide smile.  
  
“Luckily for you, I’ll be looking for a dorm mate. You available?”  
  
Lexa sniffs, shrugging a bit.  
  
“I might be.”  
  
“Alright then,” Anya says, walking backward away from her. “See you soon, kid.”  


 

* * *

 

  
  
_Now_  


  
  
  
  
Lexa shuts the door behind her, leaning heavily against it. She brings a hand to her chest, feeling how fast her heart is beating, and swallows.  
  
Her phone beeps.

  
  
_[2:07am]  
**Clarke:**  
Goodnight, Lexa Woods._

  
  
Her mind grapples with her heart, and the words are typed and sent before she can second guess them.

  
_[2:08am]  
**Lexa:**  
Goodnight, Clarke Griffin._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like maybe I should stop apologizing for being terrible and taking a really long time to update anything, but I'm going to go ahead and say sorry anyway. Work got hectic, and that damn writer's block... This is something a little different, obviously with the flashback and the narrative tense changing. Would you guys mind terribly if I switched it to this tense when it's back to Clarke's POV? Let me know. :)
> 
> Your reviews last time were so wonderful, I can't even express how much I appreciated them - thank you so, so very much. Until next time. Xx


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